


Silent Prayer

by Tarlan



Series: Silent World [13]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-19
Updated: 2003-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vendetta</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Prayer

_  
Just when I think I'm winning.  
When I've broken every door;  
The ghosts of my life grow wilder than before.  
 **Ghosts**_ by **David Sylvian**

Since the arrival and subsequent death of Don Paulo everything had been quiet in the town and surrounding area. It was almost as if the duel had sated the blood lust in the people, and left them less inclined to look for more trouble. The general air around town was one of camaraderie with folks being strangely deferential to one another, but Chris knew it couldn't last. Still, he took advantage of the peace, spending time out at the shack to add some creature comforts to the spartan interior - as Ezra would say - and to work on building a decent roof.

He had Josiah and Vin to thank for seeing so much accomplished in a short time. A week after the duel they had come out to the shack in Vin's wagon, the back of which had been filled with some of those creature comforts as well as with a few dozen lengths of prepared timber. Their saddle horses had been tied to the back and, once unhitched, all four horses - saddle and team - had been let loose to join Chris's black gelding in the newly finished corral.

It had been strange to see so many horses milling together on his land, reminding him of how it had once been at the ranch near Eagle Bend. Sarah had been brought up on a ranch holding a couple of horses and a few head of cattle, but she had loved the horses most of all.

 _Cattle are so dumb_ ; she used to say....

"Draw poker."

"How do you do that?"

Chris glanced across at Nathan, seeing awe mixing with distrust, as Ezra shuffled the cards with a deftness that they had all come to admire. It was mesmerizing, watching the cards moving almost too fast for even his sharp eyes to keep up - and the flickering sight lulled him back into the recent past...

Vin and Josiah had spent the next few days working on the roof with him to ensure it would keep out the rain from the sudden storms that swept up at this time of year. The days had been long and unseasonably hot causing even Vin to discard his buckskin and shirt until all three men were working in their undershirts. He smirked at the remembrance of Vin all hot and sweaty, with his hair held back with a bandanna - Indian style. Chris recalled that day before Don Paulo had come to town, and how Vin had been right about one thing. There *was* something special about fresh sweat on a man, though it *did* matter which man as Chris didn't feel quite the same pressure at his groin when he looked at and scented Josiah. However, he had never felt more excited around Vin.

Chris allowed his thoughts to center on the memory of seeing Vin working under the hot sun. Dark circles of sweat had formed under his arms, and then there was that long damp streak that ran between the muscular shoulder blades to the gentle curve of Vin's lower back, disappearing beneath the waistband of the beige pants. The pale pink undershirt had been surprisingly clingy, molding itself to the curve of muscle and sharpness of bone, and stretching like a second skin across the broad back and well-defined chest. On occasion Chris would see the material peaked by the nub of a stiff nipple, and he would let his gaze flow upward to find Vin's sky blue eyes appraising his sweaty form with equal lust.

He had tried to bank down on the feelings he had for Vin while Josiah was around, and if Josiah had noticed any of this then he kept it to himself. As much as he enjoyed Josiah's company, he had been relieved when they finished the roof, for Josiah saddled up and headed back to town soon after, stating that he had plenty more work to do on that old church he was rebuilding. Vin had declined the offer to ride back with him, deciding to stay a few days longer on the pretext of giving Chris a hand to build a small raised porch at the front of the shack. The lengths of timber that Josiah had prepared and brought with him had been perfect and, by sun down, he and Chris were seated on the newly built porch gazing across to the small corral where the remaining four horses bunched together.

They had sipped at strong coffee heavily laced with whiskey, allowing the silence of transition from day to night to add to the excitement building slowly between them. Tonight they would be alone together, and though Chris's muscles had ached from days of toiling under a hot sun, he knew the feel of Vin's hands upon him would be all the balm he needed to soothe body, mind and spirit...

Ezra began to deal the cards, his hands a blur as the cards landed in front of each man. Nathan and Buck watched in mixed admiration and vexation but, once more, it was Nathan who voiced what both men were thinking.

"You deal those cards so fast, how do we know you didn't cheat?"

"You don't."

Chris grinned; laughing softly as daylight glinted off the gold tooth in the wide smile. Ezra's green eyes were sparkling like emeralds, showing his pleasure at the backhanded praise. Here, he was in his element, able to dazzle as he used his honed skills even on his friends. His soft, pale hands were always so graceful, moving with the strange fluidity of a carnival magician as he swept his own cards from the table. His expression gave away nothing, as if he already knew what cards would be in his hand before he turned them over. Chris was pragmatic enough to know that Ezra would walk away from the table with most of the money offered up, though he had a suspicion it would be far less than Ezra could have walked away with. He smiled again, knowing it was Ezra's way of showing how much these friends meant to him for he would have no compunction in taking any other man for every single bit in his pocket.

Buck looked down at the cards dealt to him by Ezra, his poker face disappearing beneath a scowl.

"Hell, Ezra, this hand's got as much chance as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest."

He threw the hand down in disgust and rose stiffly from his seat to make his way to the bar. Chris noticed that he was still favoring his leg slightly but that was hardly a surprise. Don Paulo had cut him quite deeply with the razor edge of his sword, leaving Nathan with a three-inch slash to sew up. The other slashes had been fairly minor in comparison, though Buck now had three new scars - and a whole new story - to impress the ladies with, so he wasn't too upset at the outcome.

It had been a close call though, and if Don Paulo had not been so supremely confident--and arrogant with it--then Buck would have been dead within a minute of the duel starting. Instead, Don Paulo had played with Buck like a cat with a mouse, remembering too late that even a cornered mouse had sharp teeth.

For a moment, Chris turned his attention to the hand he had been dealt before letting his thoughts wander once more to that first shared moment on his newly built porch...

He recalled the way the rays of the low-lying sun had caught at the strands of Vin's hair, turning the light brown to a fiery red. Vin had placed his mug of coffee on the ground and pushed aside the braces, letting them hang loose as he rolled his shoulders to ease the tension in well-used muscles. He had glanced sideways, almost covertly, to ensure Chris was watching before he began to tease at the buttons on his undershirt. Chris had felt that familiar tingle sweep through him, had felt the increasing pressure in his suddenly too tight pants as Vin shrugged out of the sweat-soaked garment, letting it fall aside to hang from the waist of his pants over the top of the braces. He had flexed strong muscles once more, raising his arms over his head as he stretched with cat-like grace. The last rays of the dying day had caressed his sweat-sheened flesh, sending sharp bone into stark relief and deepening the hollows with shadows of night. Vin had stood up then, the pants hanging loosely round his lean hips, flowing over the curve of a firmly muscled ass. His back was a work of art - lean at waist and broad of shoulder, the hard bone and muscle covered in silken flesh with just the slightest kink near the base of his spine from a childhood infliction...

"Hank? Hank Connolly?"

Buck's exclamation brought Chris out of his reverie and he looked up sharply, following Buck's gaze to where a man stood partly in shadow near the back entrance to the saloon. The man stepped forward, and Chris looked across into a face ravaged by time and grief - and felt no stirring of sympathy or compassion within him for this man. With his poker face still in place, Chris looked away, his earlier good mood evaporating as dark clouds of almost forgotten hurt shadowed his heart.

"Buck Wilmington. I remember you. You still that loud mouth, whore-mongering, good-for-nothing?"

Hank Connolly was an unwelcome ghost from the past--a man who had been the cause of such grief for his only daughter, Sarah. They hadn't spoken in more than a decade, not since Chris had persuaded Sarah to run off and marry him. Chris knew there was no love lost between Connolly and Buck either as each traded barbed remarks even though Buck's was concealed behind a cloak of affability.

"You still as ornery as a mule with a rattler up his backside?" The easy smile hardened for a moment. "I think you are. What are you doing here?"

"Got some business with my son-in-law."

That was Hank Connolly. Straight to the point though Chris wasn't sure what surprised him most, that Hank could have business with him after all these years or that he would acknowledge the kinship between them so openly. However, there had been too much bad feeling between them for Chris to give a damn about Hank Connolly now. He had spent enough years seeing the sorrow in his beloved wife's eyes as her own father snubbed her time and time again. Connolly had refused to offer her even the slightest courtesy or simplest acknowledgment, and all because she had gone against his wishes to marry Chris Larabee. Adam had never understood, either, why his grandfather refused to even look at him when he had seen other kids being hugged and adored by loving grandparents. Connolly had ostracized Sarah, and his domineering nature had fallen hard upon Sarah's mother and younger brother so that they, too, were forced to turn aside from her.

None of them had attended the wedding. None of them had celebrated the birth of Adam--and none of them had helped him bury his wife and child--their own kin. Part of him had long ago forgiven Sarah's brother, for Michael had taken off a few years before her death and no one had heard from him since. He probably wasn't even aware that his sister and nephew were dead.

No. Hank Connolly had not spoken to him or Sarah since the day they eloped, but Connolly would speak to Buck; mainly vitriol aimed at his daughter and her chosen husband. Buck was compassionate enough not to repeat Hank's words in front of Sarah. However, he would relate the gist of it to Chris during their journeys away from the ranch in search of new breeding stock, or on those nights when they'd go into town for a few hands of poker and a drink in the saloon.

"What do you want?"

With his face expressionless and his voice flat, it should have been enough of an indicator to Hank that Chris did not welcome his intrusion into his life.

"I heard you were here. Been riding for days to find you. Chris Larabee... I need your help."

Chris didn't allow the shock to register on his face. Hank Connolly was the sort of ornery cuss that never asked anyone for help - least of all from the man who had stolen away his little girl. He tilted his head, letting his eyes drift up to the man standing above him, trying to figure out why Hank should come to him for help now. Before he could ask, JD came into the saloon, calling on everyone to see some spectacle rolling into town, but Chris remained where he was, totally uninterested in the goings-on beyond the doors of the saloon until he noticed Connolly's unease.

"They're after me. They're looking to avenge what I did." Chris looked back up at Connolly as he wondered what Hank could have done to have people after him seeking vengeance. A bewildered frown crossed his face when he found Hank looking directly at him in a mixture of desperation and triumph. With his pale blue eyes fixed on Chris's and his voice hard, Hank answered the unspoken question. "I found the fella... who shot your wife and kid. He murdered Sarah and Adam. And I shot him with this gun."

Chris could not describe the feeling that swept over him as Connolly placed a gun on the table before him. Anger, displeasure, shock and grief vied with disbelief and confusion. Cletus Fowler was dead; Chris had watched the killer of his wife and child walk into a burning stable rather than allow himself to be taken before the Judge, tried and then hanged for his crime.

"I already killed that man."

"I don't know who you killed, but this fella was behind it. He may have not done it with his own hands, but he was behind it."

Could it be true? Had Hank found the man responsible for hiring Fowler; the man Fowler refused to name before he stepped back into that burning stable? If he had then it was over, and the ghosts of his family could rest in peace... couldn't they? His jaw ached, and then he realized that he was gritting his teeth so hard that they would shatter if he applied any more pressure.

Could it be over? Was the long search at an end? If so, then why didn't he feel glad?

Chris listened in growing confusion as Connolly told them the name of the man he had killed. A picture came into his head of David Nichols. He had been a pleasant man who kept himself to himself for the most part; a man who smiled a lot and who had been generous to a fault, always willing to lend a hand to a neighbor in trouble. They'd spoken maybe six or seven times, mostly when they came across each other at the boundary of their land, and never once had Chris sensed any malice in the man. He felt his mind reeling from the shock, hardly able to believe that David Nichols could have been a cold-blooded killer, hiring a man to brutally murder a woman and child in the worst possible way - burning them alive. Nichols had been one of the few people to attend the funeral, and his wife had even sent over little parcels of prepared food in those first few days when he had been too numb to fend for himself. It just didn't make any sense, but further thoughts were cast aside as Vin shoved aside the batwing doors with more force than was necessary.

"Looks like the circus is in town."

****

Vin knew he was being petulant but the arrival of this strange looking coach and its seven black-clad riders, with strange adorning on their hats, had him on edge. He'd been enjoying the peace of these past two weeks, spending the time out at Chris's shack working up one sort of sweat during the day and another kind in Larabee's arms by night.

Vin took in the tight expression on his lover's face before quickly taking note of the man hovering above Chris. There were waves of hostility and bewilderment emanating from Chris but no sense of impending violence - and that confused Vin even more.

What the hell is going on here?

He took in the sight of his lover, noting the freshly bathed and barbered face, the slicked back hair and clean clothing. He'd watched Chris entering the bathhouse more than an hour ago, had relished the loose-limbed walk and relaxed features knowing that he had been responsible for them. Three nights of loving. Three nights of hard, sweaty sex followed by tenderness as they held onto each other until morning - and then started the loving all over again. Three nights of sinking deep into that firm flesh, his own slapping hard against the pale ass cheeks as he possessed that beautiful body. Three nights of exquisite pleasure and pain as he was taken just as roughly, keening his joy as the heat of Chris's seed filled him even as his own release flowed over him.

He'd been looking forward to a fourth night, having planned on making the retrieval of the wagon and horses a good enough reason for being back at the shack. That wasn't going to happen now - least not while these strangers were in town. They looked like trouble.

Hell, they even smell like trouble with their fancy colognes drifting with the slight breeze along the main street, he thought.

It was the stranger standing over Chris who spoke up.

"Ain't no circus. That's the Nichols family. And they're after me on account of I killed one of their kin. And they been chasing me from town to town."

"Wait. The Nichols brothers? The Nichols brothers from Kansas City?"

Vin turned to Ezra, his frown deepening as he realized this was going to be even worse than he suspected. He'd heard of the Nichols during his bounty hunting days--a brood of killers and cheats who had hidden their nastiness behind lucrative business dealings. No one had ever managed to find a grain of evidence to put out a bounty on any of them for the Nichols were a family no one crossed unless they had a death wish. Witnesses never came forward against them, either changing their stories over what they saw, or disappearing, never to be seen again.

Connolly seemed surprised as he turned to Ezra.

"You heard of them?"

"Oh, who hasn't? Oh, boys, boys, big Jack Nichols was the most infamous racketeer west of the Mississippi. He expired in prison about 10 years ago, but he left behind a brood of notorious cut-throats and reprobates who now have the distinction of running their criminal enterprise in a very business-like manner."

Despite Ezra's proclamation, it was obvious that Chris had never heard of them before today, but Vin could see that he realized that this was no exaggeration on Ezra's part. Fire sparked from the green eyes as he turned his anger on the stranger standing above him.

"You brought these people here?"

"I couldn't lose them. They just kept a-coming."

"You should have come to me. I would've taken care of him."

"I killed him. He came right up to me... and before he said 'howdy-do'... I shot him.

"You should have come to me, Hank."

Vin could see that Chris was bristling with anger but that the anger had been there long before the Nichols rode up with their strange black coach. He watched in growing annoyance as it sank in that this man was no stranger to Chris - because Chris addressed him on first name terms. The air became thick with the tension and anger between the two men as the one called 'Hank' stood straighter, his face hardening, pale blue eyes turning to chips of ice.

"I don't need no permission from Chris Larabee to kill my daughter's murderer."

"If what you say is true, then you live with it!"

Chris rose from his seat and snatched up his flat-brimmed hat. He pushed it onto his head as he strode from the saloon without a backward glance. Everyone watched him go with varying degrees of disbelief registering on their faces but Vin felt his own shock give rise to even more anger. It was clear that Nathan and Buck, and maybe even Ezra, had some idea of why Chris was acting like someone had shoved a spike up his ass. He traded glances with the others but no one enlightened him. He debated on whether to follow Chris and shake him until he got a straight answer out of him, if necessary, but then JD spoke up once more.

"They're heading this way."

JD's warning brought him back to the here and now and, moments later, Buck and Josiah were heading out the back way with Hank, planning on hiding him in the church. Vin settled against the bar while JD and Ezra sat back down at the poker table, and while he waited for trouble to stick its head through the saloon door, Vin contemplated over all he had seen.

Chris had been in such a fine mood only a few hours earlier, all easy limbed and light of spirit from days of peace, hard work and good sex. He'd cleaned up real nice too, though Vin had been looking forward to getting him all sweaty again in that shack tonight. He'd gotten an idea up for a new game tonight, wondering how far he could push Larabee, how much sexual torment he could inflict to get that proud man begging for his touch.

Dammit. That wasn't gonna happen now.

A coldness filled him as two of the black-clad strangers pushed inside the saloon. These Nichols were partly responsible for the unwanted change in his plans, and he felt his trigger finger start to itch as he wished he could make all these problems disappear. The first one through the door had a hard and brutal face with unrelenting eyes, but it was the softer looking man following who spoke.

"Excuse us, Sirs, but can we ask you a question?"

JD laughed, his boyish enthusiasm getting the better of him. "You just did."

He was rewarded with a sudden jolt as 'the brute' shoved him hard to the floor. Ezra's little derringer was in his hand almost instantaneously, and Vin had his mare's leg cocked and aimed at 'the brute's' head soon after. His finger itched to squeeze the trigger, wanting some way to vent his frustration on these men who had not only managed to spoil his plans for Chris but also had now attacked one of his friends. His voice was low and cold, with a malevolent tone he reserved for moments like this.

"Get off him."

An older woman, dressed in full mourning attire, stepped into the saloon but Vin did not let his aim waver even slightly as 'the brute' deferred to her.

"Oh, there's no need for that, now." Her words were addressed to _the brute_ but Vin had a strong feeling that they were actually aimed at him and Ezra. She continued on as if merely asking the time of day, ignoring the guns aimed at her sons and addressing JD directly. "I'm sorry to trouble you, son, but have you seen an old, ruddy-faced man around here? He's about 6 feet tall, clean shaved, wears a doe-colored plainsman."

"I ain't seen nobody like that."

"You sure?"

It was the thinner, more intelligent looking of the two men who pressed JD for a better answer but Vin had no patience left in him for today.

"You heard him."

He wanted these men gone from his sight and he was giving them a choice--either they walked out alive or they were dragged out dead. He was pissed enough that he didn't really give a damn which it was to be, but decided it would be one hell of a lot less messy if they just walked away.

The woman gave him a coldly calculating look beneath her poker-face smile, her eyes as hard as flint as she appraised him carefully. Vin was inordinately pleased that she was astute enough to know that he meant business.

"I am sorry to trouble you, sirs. You've all heard me describe the old man. I will pay a reward of $100 in gold to anyone who can tell me where he is. John, let us go find the church. I need a priest."

They filed out and the rest of the saloon let out a collective sigh of relief as the batwing doors came to rest behind them. Vin holstered his mare's leg and watched as JD pushed up from the floor.

"You all right, Kid?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just dusting the floors."

"And I thought my mother was bad."

Vin looked across at Ezra and laughed softly, some of the anger released as he considered Maude Standish and Mrs. Nichols in a single thought. Ezra was wrong. Both women were intelligent manipulators, using their womanly charms to entice answers and deeds from others. However, where Ma Nichols seemed the hell bent on fury type, Maude would find a far more tortuous way of exacting revenge on any who crossed her. Yes... Ezra was wrong in thinking Ma Nichols was worse than his own mother. Maude would be a far more dangerous adversary because she would leave you penniless, homeless, abandoned by all--and wishing you were dead.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Ezra declined to enlighten him, saying that Larabee's business was his own, and that made everything even more confusing as Ezra rarely balked on handing out juicy pieces of gossip unless it was something that would rile Chris. It meant that this was personal. The bartender, however, was far less taciturn, though all he would say was that the stranger who had killed one of the Nichols brothers had called Larabee his son-in-law. Knowing he would get no more answers in the saloon, Vin stalked outside, his mood changing from cold anger to deadly frustration.

He leaned heavily upon rail separating the boardwalk from the street - just outside the saloon - and stared across at the Nichols as they escorted their mother to the church at the far end of town.

If he lived to be a hundred then Vin decided that he would never understand Chris Larabee. The man had family. He had a brother and, possibly, a father still living... and now he had a father-in-law, and yet he didn't seem to care for any of them.

There had only ever been two people that Vin could call 'kin' in his life; his mother and his maternal grandma, a Comanche displaced from her people after marrying a White man. Still, she had taken him in after his ma died.

Both of his kin were dead within five years of each other and, despite his mother's pride and love for his father, what there was of his pa's family had refused to accept Vin, seeing only the Indian in him. Instead, after his grandma died, he was passed around so-called Christian homes until he ran off and joined up with the Kiowa.

He sighed. Chris had told him, once, that his father had disowned him, but that didn't mean Chris couldn't make inroads into healing that breach, or writing to his estranged brother. And it sure didn't explain why he would turn away his dead wife's father who had come to him for help. He couldn't believe that Chris could be so petty as to abandon his father-in-law just because the man had tracked down and killed the man Chris had been seeking all these years. He always believed Chris only wanted was to see justice served for Sarah and Adam - and that was exactly what this Hank had done for him.

No, this bitterness between them didn't make any sense.

He pushed away from the handrail and walked to the corner of the saloon as some of the Nichols brothers returned to their outlandish coach. Footsteps came from behind him but Vin recognized them long before he caught the scent of Ezra's expensive lavender cologne. Ezra came to stand by his side, drawing him from his thoughts, and they both watched the black-clad men milling about on the far side of the street.

"Looks like a flock of circling buzzards. Just haven't found the body yet."

Ezra seemed quite taken with Vin's words, and his mouth curved into a generous smile as he chortled merrily.

"An apt description, Mr. Tanner. But they are also people of sophistication. Perhaps if I parley with them, I might uncover their designs."

Vin looked askance at Ezra, seeing the interest gleaming in the green eyes as Ezra sized up the small knot of men. It made a lot more sense than if Vin tried to approach them. After all, Ezra exuded a similar 'air of sophistication' whereas Vin knew that his rougher clothing and long hair would gain him nothing but contempt unless he was staring them down along the barrel of a gun. In truth, his instincts told him that it was highly unlikely that they would give even Ezra the time of day unless he had something that *they* wanted, but Vin knew there was nothing to lose by trying. He gestured towards the strangers.

"Go parley, Ezra."

Vin ignored the friendly slap on the back as Ezra walked off, and watched with interest as Ezra approached the men but was then quickly rebuffed. He shook his head. He could tell, just by looking at them, that they were a close knit family, and this Hank had killed one of them. They were seeking revenge with a determination that he thought only Chris Larabee could display, giving Vin a strong feeling that the Nichols would not be leaving this town until they had found their quarry.

Ezra shook his head as he walked past Vin, heading back into the saloon and leaving Vin alone to keep a watch on the Nichols. He leaned up against the post for a moment, wondering where Chris might have gone, and then decided that he might as well take a seat as nothing much seemed to be happening. Within seconds of him sitting down, Buck came up and straddled the seat next to him. Vin greeted him quietly before asking the question that was plaguing him right now.

"Where's Chris?"

"He took off. To his shack in the hills."

"Reckon he's none too happy that the hunt's off."

"Well, he spent a long while looking for Sarah's killer. Reckon it'll take him a little time to adjust."

"I just don't understand why he won't help his own kin."

Vin watched Buck's eyes cloud over in remembrance.

"Hank thought Sarah was the sweetest flower on the prairie. She was. And he thought Chris was a no-good, hot-headed beer-guzzling carouser. Of course he was right." Buck flashed a grin at Vin and Vin found himself snorting softly in agreement. "But there was something special between Sarah and Chris. I mean... you could see it. She changed him. When they were together, I've never seen two people... happier in my life."

The words stung even though he knew Buck had not intended them that way. Vin knew Buck was still trying to adjust to the idea of him and Chris being together. Nonetheless, he had to admit that Buck had never been privy to those private moments where he and Chris could be open with each other so he had no way of comparing their relationships. After all, a show of affection between a man and his wife was acceptable, but if he and Chris were to display such emotion then they'd be judged and imprisoned faster than a striking rattler. Buck continued on, his blue eyes still focused on the distant past.

"Old Hank, he never saw the good in Chris. When they got hitched, he never spoke to either one of them again. Not until today."

Vin nodded. It explained a lot; knowing how fiercely protective Chris could be over those he loved. It would have cut him deep to see Sarah hurt by her own father's attitude, and to see his son snubbed by his own grandfather. And Chris wasn't one to forgive and forget easily. Still, that would explain why he'd been pissed at Hank, but not why he had left the old man to fend for himself especially after learning how he'd avenged his family's deaths.

Vin stood up fast as he heard the commotion over at the church. He reached for his mare's leg just as Hank Connolly came running out, and Vin started racing towards the man. The one called John Nichols grabbed hold of the old man but, suddenly, a familiar rider was bearing down upon them. Chris knocked the Nichols brother aside with his horse and turned swiftly, extending a hand to Hank, who took it and swung up behind the poncho-clad figure. Vin holstered his mare's leg as the black gelding and its two riders disappeared in a cloud of dust. He nodded his head in satisfaction, pleased that his assessment of Chris had been right all along, and that Chris had come to his senses and decided not to abandon his kin.

Vin and Buck moved slowly back to where they had been waiting, and watched until they were certain that none of the Nichols brothers were saddling up ready to follow Chris. But it was obvious to Vin that the Nichols had been caught off guard and were ill prepared to follow swiftly. Sure enough, he saw several of the brothers go into Watson's hardware store and figured they were getting in supplies before going after Hank Connolly - and Chris. Still, it made sense for him and Buck to make their own preparations to follow after Chris. Vin slapped Buck on the arm, calling his attention, and they made their way to the hotel where Nathan was setting John Nichols' broken arm. Vin saw a smirk cross Buck's face as they watched Nathan binding the arm.

"Hey, Doc?"

"Yeah."

"You set that arm real tight?"

"Yep."

"So he won't be able to shoot anybody."

Vin's quiet but sarcastic words were lost as several of the Nichols brothers burst in through the door, their excitement making them careless with their words as they let on their news and intentions. Their intentions filled Vin with concern for Chris as he recalled the words Ma Nichols had shouted when Chris helped Hank escape.

_I'm gonna kill you, Hank Connolly! You and anyone that helps you!_

Vin waited until all the Nichols had left and then he headed straight for the door with Buck close behind. However, Ezra came in and prevented him from leaving.

"Hold your horses, boys. This building doesn't appear to be on fire."

"They know where Larabee lives."

"Well, I should hope so." Ezra settled into a comfortable seat, and only the evil gleam in his eye kept Vin from carrying on out the door to get his horse saddled. Vin did not have to wait long before Ezra crowed out his latest ruse. "I gave them explicit directions."

Vin shook his head, snorting softly at the idea of the Nichols being taken in by one of Ezra's cons. Still, it gave him and Buck a few hours grace to ride on out to Chris's shack and warn him that trouble was on its way. He just hoped Ezra didn't end up paying for this ruse in excruciating pain, as promised by the Nichols.

"Nathan, you best stay in town. Ezra may need some doctoring. Buck and I will go warn Chris."

Although it was a gamble splitting up, it made sense to leave Nathan behind just in case the Nichols came back and decided to tear the town apart looking for Ezra. Vin just had to hope that Nathan, Ezra, JD and Josiah would be enough of a force to keep the townsfolk safe from any reprisals. In the meantime, he and Buck quickly made their way to the livery. They rode off together, side-by-side, both caught up in their own thoughts of what they would do should the Nichols reach Chris before them.

Eventually, Vin glanced over at Buck as they rode just short of a gallop. He could see the lines of worry in the tight set of mouth and jaw. It was not often that the affable Buck was missing but Vin realized that the arrival of Hank Connolly had to have cut Buck as deeply as it had Chris. It was so easy to forget that these were ghosts of a past that Buck shared with Chris, and that he too had fond memories of happy times spent with Sarah and Adam.

Vin frowned. Those ghosts had invaded his life, too, bringing with them a constant reminder of what Chris had lost, and what he could regain with another woman. It was something Vin could never give Chris because the law said it was wrong for two men to have that kind of happiness together. They would never be able to show any undue affection in public. They would never be able to stand in front of witnesses and proclaim to the world how they felt about each other - and they would never be able to live together openly. Their life had to be lived behind closed doors and in shadows, grasping at opportunities to be together - and all the while living with the fear of discovery.

Until now, he believed that they were both willing to accept that this was the way it had to be.

Even so, they had just spent three whole days together--away from prying eyes and loose tongues. Three full nights lying in each other's arms while they kissed, and caressed, and delighted in taking and holding the other - and in being taken and held. Three days where Vin thought they had laid the ghosts of Chris's former life to rest but, now, those ghosts were back and howling louder than ever.

Was either of them strong enough to push aside those ghosts once more? Would Chris be able to move on now that justice had been served? Or had this reopened all those old wounds and allowed the bittersweet memories to take hold of him once more?

Vin couldn't find it in his heart to hate Sarah and Adam. How could he when they had meant so much to the man he cared for above all others? But as he and Buck rode hard towards Chris's shack, Vin offered up a silent prayer that those ghosts would finally find some peace and stop haunting the living; that they would allow Chris to make a new life with him.

They crowned the next in a series of rolling hills and Vin stopped, a tight grimace replacing the consternation on his face as he spotted the seven Nichols brothers racing through the valley below. Vin pointed out the dark shapes in the distance.

"Over yonder. They turned around. Headed right to Chris."

"I reckon somebody straightened them out. Come on."

Vin spurred his horse onward, aware that he had the advantage of knowing the lay of the land. However, the Nichols would be close behind, and if Chris didn't have two horses saddled and ready to ride then they would have to make a stand at the shack. It was not a thought that gave Vin any comfort even though the Nichols would be forced to cross open ground to reach them. His fear was that they'd figure out that it was safer to stay far enough back and riddle the shack with bullets. Meaning no disrespect to Chris's workmanship, he knew the walls were not thick enough to keep those bullets out.

****

Chris stocked up the fire in the stove as the aroma of chicken and dumplings filled the small shack. He'd intended to share this meal with Vin and he felt slightly belligerent that his plans had gone to hell once more. Only a few feet away sat Hank Connolly, the last man on Earth that he had expected to share a meal with, and certainly not the man he had hoped to be with right now.

He allowed his thoughts to drift back to this morning, recalling the pleasure of waking up with Vin lying beside him. The soft waves of hair had fanned out beneath Vin's head and his strong, square jaw seemed softer somehow in sleep. Kiss swollen lips were parted in a gentle, satisfied smile, and the dark lashes were fluttering as Vin dreamed on. It had felt so good to know Vin could sleep so soundly in his bed; that he could feel so safe and so secure with Chris that he could let down his guard and sink into a deep and restful sleep.

It had seemed such a shame to wake him, but they had to make an appearance in town for the sake of respectability. Chris had made the odious task more pleasurable for both them as he slowly pulled back the light blanket to fully expose the almost hairless chest, the firm ridges of the abdomen and then the dormant sex lying in a bed of light brown curls...

Chris leaned over the sleeping man, tongue sneaking out to gently tease the softened head, tasting the essence of his lover. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of spent passion mixing with the musk that was pure Vin. He lapped softly at the head again, smiling when Vin murmured in appreciation even as he slept on. In contrast, the thick shaft reacted immediately, with its length slowly filling, hardening, and rising from its bed of curls as if seeking more from the tantalizing tongue.

Vin moaned softly as Chris lapped at a glistening jewel of precome before taking the whole head in his mouth. He hummed gently against the silken shaft, tongue rasping against the velvet soft skin covering hardened steel. He sucked gently, letting the shaft slide easily between his lips but he looked up as fingers carded through his hair before grabbing hold of the strands tightly and tugging at them. Passion-filled blue eyes held his in fierce possession for one moment before they glazed over, and Vin's head sank back onto the pillow, exposing the vulnerable column of his stubble-shadowed throat. Chris carried on with his ministrations, with one hand squeezing the heavy sac, rolling its contents gently as his tongue and mouth brought guttural moans of pleasure spilling from Vin's swollen lips. The increasing buck of the slim hips and a soft, keening cry heralded the release of bittersweet juice that spurted deep inside Chris's mouth. Chris swallowed the seed greedily, lapping and sucking at the sensitive flesh until he had drawn every droplet of the precious release from Vin, and then he allowed the softening shaft to fall from his mouth. He crawled up the bed, eager to share the gift he had received with Vin.

They kissed deeply, passionately, with tongues dueling as Vin sought his own essence in every curve and hollow within Chris's mouth. Strong yet gentle fingers eased between them, cupping Chris's sac and squeezing rhythmically even as the other hand encircled Chris's aching shaft and began to glide along the length.

Chris gasped out his pleasure into the possessive mouth as Vin drew him over the edge, feeling the heat of his own spent seed lying sticky between them as he collapsed upon the lean yet muscular body beneath him. Vin nudged him onto his side, pushing one knee between Chris's legs so he could draw Chris closer, his lips worshiping Chris's throat and shoulder. Chris hissed as sharp teeth nipped at his flesh, sucking hard, and raising a vivid welt of ownership upon him before Vin pulled back to admire his new possession.

"That was some wake-up call, Cowboy. Sarah teach you how to do that?"

Chris looked up in startlement as Hank's voice drifting across from the table. He looked back at the pot that he had been stirring absent-mindedly while his thoughts were lost in pleasurable memories of that morning. He thoughts drifted further back into the past.

"She made the best chicken and dumplings I ever ate. Adam wanted them every night. I did, too, but she always said, 'Sunday's the day for dumplings'. I never knew why. Just the way she was."

"Sunday dumplings. She got that peculiarity from her mother. And I don't know why she did it either... but I miss those dumplings."

Chris felt the last of the wonderful sensations ebb away from his mind and body as he was reminded, once more, of another distant memory. Sarah's mother had died only a few months after Adam was born without ever seeing her only grandchild. He and Sarah had gone to the funeral but Hank had made it clear that they were not welcome. Despite this, Sarah had tried countless times to see if he might relent, offering him homely comforts - and chicken and dumplings - at the Larabee ranch, but she and Adam had gone to their graves without a word of comfort or kindness from her father.

"But there was a place for you."

"You gave up on me. Didn't have time for the old man."

Chris heard the bitterness in the remark, his anger rising as he recalled those times when he would find Sarah in tears after being rebuffed one more time. Eventually he had tried to call a halt to her attempts at reconciliation, hating to see her hurt, but that had hurt her even more. She'd been a strong woman, and had never been one to give up on anyone, especially her own kin.

"Well, you didn't approve."

"Of course I didn't approve. 'Cause even after you were married, you was still a rogue. Gallivanting out of town with your friends, roostered up, looking for trouble. Trouble came, didn't it, Chris Larabee? Trouble came. Killed my little girl. Where were you?"

"You weren't there neither." Chris bit back another retort in deference to his memory of Sarah. "Gonna spend the rest of our lives blaming each other? It's not what she would've wanted." His voice became softer, willing Hank to make one more step towards reconciliation between them. "Got to learn to let it go."

"I can't. Maybe I loved her too much."

Chris stared at the older man, seeing the ravages of time and loss written across his seamed face, and confused at how this love he proclaimed to have for Sarah could have been so twisted as to cause nothing but more grief. If either of them had loved her less then would Sarah and Adam still be alive? Would her father have been there watching over her and Adam while he and Buck went searching for more breeding stock down in Mexico? Would he have gone so far away in the first place if he had not loved her so much that he wanted to bring back the best for her? Or would he have come home one day to dig three rather than two graves?

"Maybe we both did."

The sound of riders coming in fast drew Chris to the porch, his gun already in hand and he sighed in relief when he recognized the two men. However, his relief was short-lived as Vin ordered them to mount up and start riding. The Nichols had found them far sooner than Chris had anticipated and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that he'd had the foresight to saddle two horses just in case they needed to leave in a hurry. Swiftly, he turned the remaining horse free, slapping her rump to send her running but hoping that she would not wander too far; not wanting to tether her in case no one came out this way again for a while.

The four of them headed off in the other direction and reached the cover of the trees long before the Nichols arrived. As they rode on, Chris heard distant gunfire and his lips tightened into a grimace. If he did come back then he had a strong feeling he would have a lot of repair work ahead of him.

"Glad you boys showed up before they did. Saved my life. I owe you one."

Vin glanced at Hank and then addressed his remarks to Chris. "I'm gonna double back, see if they got smart."

"Watch your back."

Chris took one last glance at his lover before Vin turned away; bearing silent witness to the shadows that chased across Vin's face as they parted. He cursed softly, knowing that the time was fast approaching when he might have to make a choice between Vin and Hank -- and it wasn't fair - but then, when had the decisions in his life ever been fair? Hank was a man who had done his best to make his life miserable. He was a man who had hurt those he loved -- and Vin was a man who had given him back so much joy. Though he would never admit it out loud, Vin was a man he loved perhaps even more than he had loved Sarah. Choosing between them should have been so easy for in his heart, body and even his soul, he wanted to send Hank on his way to whatever fate befell him. He truly believed that he had already done more for Hank than the man deserved - and yet he still felt obliged to do far more for him.

As if to mirror his dark and stormy thoughts, heavy, rain-filled clouds blotted out the last rays of the sun and, in the distance, the first rumble of thunder boomed over the silent land. Chris looked around the stand of trees they had pushed into moments earlier, knowing they would afford them some protection from the wind and rain should the heavens open.

"We'll camp here."

"Hank, come first light you ought to move on. We'll slow those city folks down for you."

Buck's words surprised Chris, having been almost certain that Buck would expect him to put Hank before any other responsibility in his life. Chris looked carefully at Buck's face, wanting to make sure that his words were intended and not just said as a way to make Chris feel obliged to make an offer to go with Hank. He knew that his relationship with Vin still sat uneasily upon his old friend's shoulders, and that this would make a fine excuse for seeing him and Vin part company, but Buck expression proved he had considered his words with deadly seriousness.

"I got nowhere to go."

The words cut into Chris more deeply than he expected. In those early days after Sarah and Adam died, he had wandered from place to place. Part of him had been searching for clues to the killers, and for answers to the question of WHY they did it... but another part of him had been numb. He had wandered because he had nowhere left to go. What remained of the ranch at Eagle Bend held too many memories; the ghosts of his family tormenting him with bittersweet remembrances of happy days gone by. He had spent two nights there after the fire; lying on the hard packed ground next to the newly filled graves. He had been lost and alone - even though Buck lay not more than twenty feet away from him - and then he had moved into the town, almost taking up residence in the saloon until he came to his senses.

Had Hank been filled with this same numbness after losing Sarah's mother? Probably... though he stayed in the house that the Connolly's had built together, and on the land where they had raised their son and daughter. Now Sarah was dead... and his son, Michael, was as good as gone too. Yet Hank had stayed on his land until he had found the man responsible for murdering Sarah and Adam - and now he was on the run with nowhere left to go. It made Chris realize how desperate Hank must have been to seek him out.

"Hank, you got to go. You killed a man." Buck spoke earnestly to the older man

"Man deserved what he got."

It felt strange being the one to defend Hank's actions, but then, if he had been the first to discover the identity of the man behind the murders, then he would have acted exactly the same way as Hank.

Wouldn't he?

As he started to pull together enough dry kindling to start a fire, Chris considered what Hank had done. He knew that, three years ago, he would have ridden up to David Nichols, just as Hank had done, and shot him down in cold blood, an eye for an eye. However, he wasn't that lost and grief-stricken man any longer. He had gone through his own private hell and he had come out the other side. It was only at times like this that he felt the claws of black rage reaching out to grasp at him - and to try and drag him back down into the fiery pits of that personal hell, but that grip was no longer as powerful as it had once been.

Then he had wanted the full force of vengeance to fall upon the head of the man, or men, responsible, but now all he wanted was to see justice done for his family. It was the difference between killing in cold blood and in coldly watching a man sentenced and hanged for his crime. Chris knew which one he would prefer now, especially as there was always the other option as fall back should justice not be served.

The fire caught and Chris set about making a pot of coffee. Night fell swiftly, hurried along by the dark clouds that thundered overhead. Forks of lightning zagged across the blackened sky, brilliant in their intensity as they illuminated, momentarily, the solid base of heavy, rain-laden clouds. As he poured himself a mug of coffee, Chris paused to remember the chicken and dumplings they had been forced to abandon. His stomach rumbled loudly in protest of that remembrance but a clap of thunder drowned out the sound. He reached into the saddlebag he had taken from his horse earlier and delved inside, looking for the small provisions he had stowed there earlier.

A short while later, the three men ate in a silence that was broken only by the thunder overhead and the crackling of the fire before them. Exhausted from his days of pursuit, Hank made his excuses and crawled into the spare bedroll that Chris had strapped to the saddle of Vin's wagon horse. He knew Vin wouldn't begrudge Hank making off with one of his horses, and hoped Hank's horse - that the old man had been forced to leave in the town - would be a good enough trade.

Buck offered to stand guard and, though another hour passed, Chris found it impossible to sleep as he tossed and turned beneath his blanket. The threatened rain held off as the strong trade winds blew the clouds westwards, and Chris finally gave up on finding sleep, deciding to huddle down beside the fire once more. He gazed into the flickering flames, trying to recall the memories of Sarah and Adam but, though the pain was still sharp enough to catch in his throat, the images were cloudy, giving only an impression of their faces, and only a faint whisper of their voices.

Buck hunkered down next to him and poured them both another mug of coffee. He drew Chris's attention to the dark shape bundled beneath the blankets nearby.

"Look at him sleeping there. Snug as a thumb in a baby's mouth." Firelight reflected off his bright smile. "Remember that time old Hank caught you sneaking around the barn to see Sarah? Came after you with a shotgun."

He laughed, and Chris could not help but smile ruefully in remembrance. He'd known Buck a few years by then, and when he told Buck his intentions that night, he had been forced to accept Buck's company out to the Connolly ranch. Buck had hooted in laughter when Hank came out with his trusty old shotgun and sent two shots spraying towards Chris. And it had hit him too.

"Yeah. At least he used rock salt instead of buckshot."

"Uh-huh. Just his way of saying he liked you."

"Shoot, that old man did everything humanly possible to keep me away from his little girl."

"Oh, it wasn't just you. You know that. Nobody was good enough."

Chris thought about that for a moment. He had not been the only man trying to court Hank Connolly's beautiful daughter. Plenty of other young men had been sending her gifts of admiration and had tried to sneak onto her father's land just to woo her... but he'd been the one she chose. Then he thought about the beautiful girl with fire in her eyes and a gentle yet wild spirit who had captured his heart.

"He was right. Nobody was." He stared harder at the fire, trying to force the images and sounds from the past back into the present. He felt a sharp stabbing in his chest as the images refused to come.

"I can't see her face anymore, Buck. Can't hear Adam calling me Pa. They're fading away."

"Maybe it's time for that."

"No. No. I need to remember."

He threw away the remainder of the coffee from his mug, ignoring the sizzle as he walked away from the fire - and away from Buck. Darkness hovered just beyond the camp, kept at bay by the meager light thrown out by the fire but Chris plunged into it, needing the absence of sight in the hope that it would gift him with inner visions.

Why couldn't he see them any more? Why couldn't he hear their voices? Was Buck right? Had he moved on?

It had been over four years since the day he came home to a burned out ranch and a dead family. Now, when he tried to see Sarah's pale blue eyes he saw Vin's brilliant blue instead - and when he tried to picture her cascading locks of auburn hair he saw Vin's lighter-colored, silken mane fanned across the pillow. His fingers that had once danced along the soft curves of her body, knowing every part of her so intimately, now held no memory except for the smooth planes and hard angles of Vin's perfect frame.

Was this why he could no longer see her? Had she faded away to make room for Vin in his life?

A feeling of immense guilt swept over him. He had never meant to forget her, had never *wanted* to forget her or Adam, and he had foolishly believed that he never would. Would his memory of them still be as sharp if he had not met Vin? Or was this his punishment for taking up with another man; some form of divine retribution meted out by a heartless God; a God who had taken Sarah and Adam from him in the first place?

Chris sank down onto the hard ground at the base of a night-darkened tree, wrapping his arms around his drawn-up knees as he tried to make sense of the conflicting emotions. He couldn't believe that God could be so malicious, could not believe that loving Vin could be so wrong no matter what the _brimstone and fire_ preachers might spout. There wasn't anything ugly or dark in the way he cared for Vin. It felt as good and pure and wholesome as the love he had felt for Sarah and Adam, though maybe stronger because he knew what it was like to have someone to love and then to lose them. He loved Vin more fiercely because he knew how easily it could be taken from him.

How could that be so wrong?

Eventually he must have slept for he woke up shivering in the cold light of a gray morning. His sleep had been filled with hazy images of Sarah's beautiful face that sharpened into Vin's features as images of the past and the present merged almost seamlessly. He heard the snap of a twig and looked round sharply to see Buck approaching with two mugs of coffee held in his large hands.

Buck sat down beside him, releasing a deep sigh, and handed one mug to Chris.

"Figured you needed a little space", he said in answer to Chris's unspoken question.

Chris nodded in gratitude, even though his body felt stiff and cold from sleeping awkwardly away from the heat of their small campfire. "What about Hank?"

"Still sleeping like a baby when I left." Buck sipped at his coffee and then broached the subject of Hank Connolly once more. "The way I figure it, he'd be best heading south into Mexico. Might put the Nichols off the chase."

"Yeah."

Chris stared off through the trees, aware that he had found no answers to his questions that night, not even in his dreams. All he did know for certain was that he owed it to Sarah and Adam to take care of Hank, though how he was going to explain it to Vin was another question for which he had no answer.

"Can't let him ride on alone, Buck. What he did, he did for Sarah and Adam, so I owe him that much."

"And Vin?"

Chris swallowed hard before looking Buck straight in the eye. He expected to see triumph there, or at least some small amount of satisfaction that he would part with Vin but, instead, there was only concern.

"I can't ask him to ride along, knowing we couldn't be... partners... while Hank was with us. Just wouldn't be right, and it wouldn't be fair on Vin. He deserves better than that. Deserves better than what I got to offer him."

Buck looked away.

"Can't say I hadn't wanted to hear you say as much... but that was before I saw how you was with Vin. And how he was with you. Leaving Vin ain't right, Chris. You owe him a lot more than you owe Hank."

"Then what would you suggest I do? Tell Hank he's on his own? Or tell Vin _you can ride along but what we have between us is finished_."

"Is that what you want, Chris? To be finished with Vin?"

"Hell, NO. But what I want just ain't about to happen. What I want ain't never gonna happen. And when I ride away from Vin I'll ride away--"

Chris broke off, unwilling to finish the sentence; unwilling to reveal that riding away from Vin would shatter what was left of his heart into a million pieces that he might never be able to put back together again. He thought he would die when he lost Sarah and Adam but he had found the strength to go on. He knew he would go on this time too, though the price would be higher than he could truly afford... but he'd pay it anyway. He just hoped Vin would be able to forgive him one day.

Buck stood up and started to walk away, but then he stopped and turned around. His voice was low but his tone was cold and sincere.

"Still think you're wrong, Chris. You've already done more than what's owed for Hank Connolly. You don't owe him your life or your happiness... 'cause that already belongs to Vin."

Chris snorted softly. "And you were the one who told me I couldn't walk away from Hank; that I owed him 'cause he was family."

Buck took off his hat and slapped it lightly against his thigh, looking a little contrite. "Yeah, well, maybe I was a little over enthusiastic. Never figured it could come to this." He shook his head slowly. "You know I ain't seen eye-to-eye with you about this business with Vin, but that was then and this is now... and I kind of got used to the idea when I saw how happy it made you." He looked Chris square in the eye. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't want to see you happy?"

Chris read the sincerity in the blue eyes and felt some of his frustration at God and his fellow man lift from his heart. He hadn't realized how much it meant to have Buck's support once more. He'd missed their easy camaraderie, having seen Buck distance himself after finding out about him and Vin. With a start, Chris realized that there was far more at stake here than merely walking away from Vin. If he rode off with Hank, without looking back, then he'd also be leaving behind Buck Wilmington and the home and family he had made in the town. He reconsidered his decision to ride on, and came to a compromise that he hoped they could all live with.

"What if I just ride on with him aways, until he's settled some place safe down in Mexico?"

"Guess I'll let you owe him that much."

Chris walked slowly up to Buck and was surprised when the bigger man slapped his back affectionately, something he had not done since learning about his relationship with Vin.

"Let's get back to the camp. Old Hank'll be stirring by now and we'd best get ready to start moving on."

They walked back to the camp together and quickly sorted out a breakfast from what provisions they had left in their saddlebags. They were almost ready to move on when Chris heard a familiar whistle followed by the husky voice that had drowned out Sarah's and Adam's in his head.

"Vin coming in." He pulled to a halt beside them. "They headed back to town."

Chris nodded, knowing Vin must have spent all night in the cold watching the Nichols set up their camp and sleep. The sun had not been up for long, and he doubted that the Nichols had risen before dawn. If they were heading back to town first then it gave him and Hank plenty of time to reach Mexico before they came after them again. He looked askance at Vin before turning to Hank, wishing he had a chance to explain to Vin what he was proposing to do. He just had to hope that Buck would do the explaining for him.

"Buck and I have been talking. We reckon Mexico is the best place for you."

"Mexico?"

"I'll ride with you."

"No, Chris Larabee. You got a home here. Besides, I prefer to keep my own company. Maybe I'll see you around one of these days."

Chris tried to hide his relief at Hank's words, knowing they had freed him from leaving the new life that he had built in this place, and with Vin.

"That would be nice."

"I was wrong about you, Chris."

Chris said his final goodbye and watched as Hank Connolly rode on alone. He just wished Sarah had been there to hear her father's words, and he felt an old, familiar ache deep inside as he thought of her. He turned to give Vin a reassuring look but his smile faltered as he caught the pain and confusion on the younger man's face. He wasn't certain what had put that look into Vin's eyes but there was no time to ask either. They had to get back to town to figure out a way of keeping the Nichols off Hank's trail so he could make his escape deep into Mexico.

"We're heading back to town."

As he spurred his horse onwards, Chris gave a silent prayer that whatever shadow had crossed Vin's face would easily disappear once they had time to talk.

****

"...and other unspeakable pestilence in a matter of moments."

Vin caught the strange look from Ezra that he, Buck and Chris gained as they strode into the saloon. Josiah's mouth twitched in a smile, too, before he greeted them but Nathan seemed far more serious as he asked after Hank Connolly. Chris carried on over to the bar but turned to answer Nathan's question.

"He's headed to Mexico."

"You know, I can't help but wonder if that old lady isn't right. What if her son was innocent?" Josiah seemed deep in thought with a faraway look in his eye.

"You know I felt the same way. Talking to that one who broke his arm. They all seem so sincere."

It seemed that Nathan had gained a similar impression from his own contact with the Nichols.

Vin had to admit that he had his own doubts too but he had not wanted to say them aloud, especially in front of Chris or Buck. The Nichols had seemed so righteous in their search for vengeance, as if they had been stunned beyond belief at the enormity of what had happened to David Nichols. Even Chris had shown some disbelief - according to Ezra - saying that David Nichols had never struck him as a killer, but Vin had pushed that consideration aside. He knew from experience that killers came in all shapes and sizes, and from all backgrounds. He only had to think of that God-fearing brimstone preacher, Mosely, who had strangled his own daughter in a fit of self-righteous anger, to know how easy it was for a man to become a killer. However, when he added up all the 'evidence' it did seem to point to Hank Connolly killing an innocent man.

The next question was why.

Why had Hank been so convinced that David Nichols was the man responsible for the murder of his daughter and grandson? He hoped Chris would shed some light on that but Chris had hardly spoken at all during the long ride back to town.

Vin glanced across at his lover, and frowned. Chris had been prepared to ride off with Connolly, leaving him behind without a single word or gesture as to his intentions. Why? They had just spent three days and nights living, eating, working--and loving--together. Had it meant nothing to Chris? Did he mean nothing to Chris? Had he been fooling himself all this time in believing that Chris felt the same way about him as he did about Chris?

It was those damn ghosts of Chris. Just when he thought he was winning, when he believed Chris had pushed them firmly into the past where they belonged, something happened to bring them back. And every time they came back, they protested more loudly than before, stripping away another part of Chris's soul.

Having been raised by a Comanche grandmother and by the Kiowa, he believed in ghosts, but he always believed they cried out for their vengeance as coyotes and whirlwinds. These ghosts of Chris, however, came back within the form of men... like Cletus Fowler and, now, Hank Connolly. How was he supposed to fight them in that form?

Vin felt selfish. He knew he ought to feel some sadness for their plight but, the truth was, he wished Sarah and Adam would stop haunting Chris. He couldn't compete with them no matter how much he believed Chris might care for him. They were too cunning, with claws that dug too deep within Chris's mind and soul. This was why he truly hoped that Hank Connolly had been right; that he had found the man ultimately responsible for the deaths of the Larabees and had sent that man to hell.

But that would be too easy.... and nothing in his life had ever been easy.

No. Instead those ghosts had sent Connolly seeking out Chris, and brought with him another family bent on vengeance at all cost. Now he had two sets of ghosts to contend with; the Larabees and that of David Nichols.

Vin reached for his whiskey and downed it in one, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned all the way down to his empty stomach. Goddamn Larabee, and goddamn the Nichols too.

_A plague on both your houses._

He saluted grimly, recalling the lines of an old play Chris had once read to him, and then he downed his second whiskey. He heard uneven footsteps approaching the bar but he couldn't care less about someone already full as a tick at this early hour of the day. The drunk stumbled to a halt on the other side of Chris, and Vin looked across with a half-snarl, but his annoyance swiftly turned to confusion as JD leaned heavily on the bar. Chris looked up from his own whiskey to stare at JD in concern.

"I've got a message for everybody."

JD collapsed, slowly, to the dusty saloon floor, and only Chris's lightning reactions prevented his head from striking the wooden flooring. Vin heard Buck and Ezra exclaiming their own fear and surprise as everyone jumped up.

"They're gonna kill us all for helping Hank."

Vin didn't need to guess who 'they' were. He'd seen the sadistic glint in the eye of one of the Nichols brothers on that first time they attacked JD. And Ezra had mentioned how the same one had been hurting one of the townsfolk in order to discover Chris's whereabouts after he took off with Connolly.

JD was struggling to get back to his feet but Vin could see that he had been worked over pretty bad. He yelled out to Ezra.

"Get the kid a chair."

Casey came racing into the saloon with her eyes full of tears and remorse. Vin figured she had learned her own lesson this day; that being city folk didn't make the Nichols any better than anyone else in this world. Vin stood back and watched as everyone fussed over JD, barely listening as Chris started ordering JD out of harm's way. Chris had the face of vengeance personified as he turned to the others.

"We're gonna finish this."

But his determined expression collapsed into confusion as Hank Connolly stepped out from the saloon's back entrance.

"Chris Larabee, I shot him, Chris. I met the man who killed your wife and son."

"Hank? What did you say?"

"He killed Sarah and Adam. Shot him, left him for dead. And I killed him with this gun. Wanted Sarah. He wanted Sarah for himself."

"Who?"

"He wanted Sarah. Green-eyed monster. But you had Sarah."

"What are you talking about, Hank?"

"I saw him. Riding towards me. And I shot him before he could say 'howdy-do'. Green-eyed monster."

Chris was open-mouthed in horror, seeing the tiny splatters of fresh blood on Hank's doe-colored plainsman.

"His mind's gone."

Buck was only stating the obvious for it was plain to see that Hank Connolly was lost in a world of his own making. Vin felt a moment of morbid curiosity, wondering which innocent man Connolly had killed this time, and then he felt sick with the realization that it might be one of the townsfolk that he and the others had sworn to protect.

"Shot him 3 times. Bang. Bang. Bang. Green-eyed monster."

Chris's wide-eyed, horror-filled green eyes searched for Vin, holding onto him until another voice called out from the street beyond. The mother of the murdered David Nichols was giving them an ultimatum.

"You, inside. Send out the old man! We know he's in there. You have one minute."

Buck looked to Chris with eyes full of knowledge but also with compassion for the sick man who had now taken two innocent lives.

"We can't send him out there, Chris. They'll kill him."

"They're after me."

"Hey, Hank. Let's sit down. Come on."

Buck led Hank aside, trying to take him out of harm's way while Chris figured out what they were going to do but Vin could hear Connolly muttering away to himself. He'd seen this once before - in the Kiowa - when an old woman overcome by grief had gone out of her mind and tried to hurt everyone around her. The Kiowa had their own way of dealing with mental illness, but Vin was not so sure if the White man was as compassionate. He'd heard of places called asylums where they would lock up both the sick of mind, and also those whose families merely proclaimed they were sick so they could abdicate responsibility for awkward relatives.

Vin could see the burden of responsibility settling upon Chris's shoulders and he cursed silently. Chris already carried a heavy enough weight from his past and from the people around him who expected so much from him. Chris caught Vin's eye as he passed by on his way to the batwing doors, his hand reaching out to stroke across Vin's arm in a gesture that filled Vin with a fierce protectiveness.

He shouldn't have to carry this extra burden alone.

Vin turned and followed Chris to the door but then moved to the side window where he could watch the proceedings. He knew Chris was relying on him to watch his back and he hoped there might be a way to avoid any more conflict. However, the chances were not good from what he had seen and heard of the Nichols. Chris walked out to face Mrs. Nichols alone, his poncho still covering his lean body, and his hands in plain view so they could be no mistake of his intentions to talk peaceably.

"We need to talk. I know your boy was innocent."

"Then send Hank Connolly out."

This was no more than Vin expected from the grief-stricken mother. She had come this far seeking vengeance so it was unlikely that she would stop now, but he still held out some hope that she might see through her grief and find some compassion for a sick man.

"He's sick. He's not right in the head. Doesn't know who he is or where he is."

"There's no excuse for murdering my son."

"You're right. We'll take him back, see he stands trial."

"Trial?"

"You'll have your justice. No sense anybody else getting hurt."

Vin cocked his mare's leg, already sensing from her unrelenting expression that she had no compassion left to give. She was so wrapped up in her grief that he doubted she had even considered the full implications of a battle between them. People were likely to get hurt - or killed - and, for her, that would mean losing even more of her precious sons. If it came to a fight then Vin wouldn't let his own compassion get in the way of protecting the ones he cared for - and the one he loved. If he had to take down some of the Nichols to protect his own - and Chris - then... so be it.

"That's not my kind of justice. My justice is the apocalypse."

She raised her hand high; a brilliant white handkerchief fluttering from her fingers as she relaxed their grip on the dainty piece of cotton - and all hell broke loose.

"Get down!"

Chris's shout spurred the others into action and Vin could only look on in detached horror as Chris drew and fired, heading for safety in a crouching run. Vin smashed the saloon window and began firing at the dark shapes hidden opposite, offering up his own silent prayer for Chris's safety as Mrs. Nichols' voice rang out in a prayer of her own.

_Remember, O most Blessed Virgin Mary, that ever was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, employed thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence I come before thee, O virgin of virgins, O mother of the word incarnate, despise not my intentions but in thy mercy here and answer me. Amen. Remember..._

Over and over she spoke her prayer like a mantra as the battle raged on around her. He heard her voice rise and catch as one of her sons was hit but Vin had no compassion left in his heart for her. She had brought this on herself, and if Chris died out there this day then she would discover the true meaning of vengeance as he took his own out on her and her kin. There was no way of bringing Chris back into the relative safety of the saloon, and he could only hope that Chris had found adequate cover outside. Although the bullets were flying, many seemed to be heading to the other side of the batwing doors where Chris had made his bid for cover. Every once in a while he thought he could make out the sound of a Colt Peacemaker: Chris's gun, but he knew Chris would be running low on bullets soon.

Vin looked across the street and made a decision.

"Nathan, let's get on their flank."

Nathan followed him out the back way but they didn't get far before the Nichols' black coach rolled down the street to come to a halt in front of the saloon. Vin watched, completely bewildered until the barrels of two rifles came sliding out through the tiny apertures that made for coach windows. Chris must have spotted them too for he shouted out in warning, his cry having the additional benefit of letting Vin know that he was still alive. Vin called out to Nathan and they made a joint effort to rain fire down upon the black coach.

He and Nathan shot round after round into the side of the coach but they hardly made a dent. Vin saw the frustration on the healer's face as he turned to Nathan for some kind of explanation.

"That coach is armored. I think it's made out of steel."

"Damn."

Vin muttered an oath, unsure what they could do against such a protective shield. He couldn't get the right angle through the cross-like apertures even for his sharpshooter skills. If the Nichols were hold up inside with enough ammunition then the battle was already over, and they would have no recourse but to make a run for it. Even as he contemplated this, Vin saw Ezra ducking through the saloon doors with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He laid down a covering fire as he tried to figure out exactly what Ezra was doing, and saw the bottle shot from Ezra's hand as he clambered between the horses.

"Josiah! Whiskey!"

Vin saw Josiah step out of cover momentarily to throw the required bottle, and he flinched as Josiah fell back wounded. In the meantime, Ezra had managed to get onto the roof and Vin's eyes widened with shock and admiration as he realized Ezra's plan. Ezra flipped the hot lid from flue and dropped the bottle dropped into the stove. Moments later, an explosive sounded within the coach as bright licks of flame flared through the slit windows. The door opened and the two Nichols brothers leaped out only to be cut down in the crossfire.

"Josiah! Stay down, stay down. Hank, get down. You're gonna get yourself shot."

Vin could hear Buck shouting in the saloon, and then he saw Hank Connolly through the batwing doors, his gun aimed at someone inside. Vin frowned in confusion, having accounted for all the Nichols in the street beyond. Another shot rang out and Connolly pitched forward slightly before staggering out of the saloon and falling down the steps to lie still upon the main street. Nathan reacted swiftly, his knife finding the remaining good arm of John Nichols from a fair distance, causing the younger Nichols boy to drop his gun before he could aim it at Chris's unprotected back. Vin shook his head in relief and admiration of Nathan's skill, and in his compassion in sparing the life of the boy when Vin had been about to kill him to protect Chris.

"Good throw."

Chris had leaped out from where he had taken cover behind an upturned table as soon as Hank stumbled into the street. He dropped to his knees beside his father-in-law, his face ravaged by more grief and Vin could only watch in silence as Connolly took his last breath, quietly reflecting on the man's final words.

 _Remember... not to forget, Chris Larabee_.

But it was Chris's response that sent a chill through him.

"I'll never forget."

Vin turned away, walking back into the saloon with a sudden need for another shot of whiskey. As he downed the raw alcohol he reflected that only one of their number had come out of this battle unmarked, though he and Chris carried their wounds inside, and that was Nathan Jackson. Josiah and Buck had been shot, JD had been seriously beaten, Ezra had burns on his hands and Hank Connolly was dead.

What a mess.

He filled the shot glass to the brim once more and raised it in mock salute to the ghosts that were still hovering near by. He wondered if they'd had their fill of vengeance, or whether there was more to come. The silence in the street beyond was filled with the sound of a woman weeping, and he wondered if Mrs. Nichols had also had her fill of vengeance now.

With a heavy heart, Vin stepped away from the bar, knowing he was needed to care for the dead and wounded in the aftermath of the battle.

****

**Epilogue:**

Chris pushed aside the splintered door and stared inside the small shack that he had made his home. Beams of sunlight criss-crossed the interior through dozens of bullet holes in the thin wooden walls, and motes of dust danced merrily in the rays as if to mock him. He took another step inside and let out the breath he had been holding in a one long, deep sigh. Congealed chicken and dumplings was splattered across the wooden floor, and the table top was pockmarked with ricochets from the many bullets that had riddled the shack. Feathers from the two pillows on the bed had settled across the floor and Chris could see rips in the down quilt that had covered the bed.

Mrs. Potter had made that quilt, and had sold it to him at a price that Chris felt was far beneath its worth. Idly, he wondered if it could be repaired. He chuckled half-heartedly as he realized he was focusing on such a trivial detail but he felt too numb to take in the enormity of the task that now lay ahead of him. He wasn't even sure if he *wanted* to try and rebuild again. It seemed that every time he thought he had found some place to call home, then someone came along and spoiled it, or destroyed it. Chris turned as he heard the scuff of boots behind him.

"Hell, Cowboy. They shot it up real bad."

Chris snorted as he looked up. "Still got a roof."

"And a corral.... and a porch too if I'm not mistaken."

"Is it worth it?"

Vin didn't pretend not to understand his question, but there was a long pause before he answered. He knew Chris was referring to more than just the bullet-riddled shack. He seemed to sense that Chris was also thinking about the destroyed lives as well... and about the relationship they had to hide from an unforgiving world.

"It's worth it to me."

Chris accepted that answer and, between them, they started to clear the messy floor and strip away the torn bedding. The stove had several dents but, otherwise, had survived relatively intact, so Chris lit a fire in its belly so they could have coffee and, maybe, make a stew out of the chicken Vin had brought with him from the town. Not that he was hungry. Far from it. His appetite had fled the moment Hank Connolly stumbled into the street and died, though he was at a loss to understand why. It was not as if he had cared that much for Hank, except maybe towards the end.

Perhaps it was because he had one less person left in the world to help him remember Sarah and Adam at a time when those memories were starting to dim. Or perhaps it was because it had reminded him of how much more he still had to lose.

He glanced sideways at Vin who was sweeping the last of the spent bullets through the broken doorway. How long would it be before Vin found someone he could settle down with openly? Someone he *didn't* have to hide from the so-called civilized world.

Outside, the horses nickered in the corral as they followed each other around the perimeter. There were five of them now: Chris and Vin's saddle horses, Vin's two wagon horses... and Hank's roan. There had been no one to contest him taking Hank's horse and other belongings as he was the only relative left - even if that kinship was through marriage rather than by blood. If Michael Connolly ever came back this way then Chris would hand it all over without a second thought

He thought about the long ride back from Eagle Bend, where they had taken Hank's body so they could bury him in the Connolly family plot next to his long-dead wife. On the journey over he had changed his mind and they had buried Hank next to his beloved daughter and his grandson - together in death as they had not been in life. Then he had made arrangements with the local priest to have Sarah's mother exhumed and reburied in the Larabee plot next to her husband.

It made a strange kind of sense to have them all together, especially as he had made arrangements to have the Connolly land sold off, and the money put in trust for Michael Connolly - should he ever be found. After all, it seemed pointless keeping the land when there was no one left to run it, and Chris already had one piece of land standing empty that he would never part with while there was a single breath left in his body.

Two days.

It had been two days since the Nichols had gunned down Hank Connolly, and they had buried him in the Larabee family plot early that morning with the local priest saying a few words over the fresh grave.

Josiah had wanted to go with the funeral party but his injury, and the fact that he was needed to give spiritual guidance to Mrs. Nichols, had made him relent. Nathan had remained behind to tend to the wounded JD, Josiah, Ezra and the surviving Nichols brothers. Only Buck had refused to stay behind despite his injury, and nothing Chris had said could deter him from riding shotgun on Vin's wagon as they took Hank's body to the Larabee ranch outside of Eagle Bend. On their way back to the shack, he and Vin had passed through the town, leaving Buck behind to check on the rest of the Seven.

Now they were back on Chris's new land, in the place where Chris had thought to make a fresh start for himself - and for Vin. Chris looked into the large shard of mirror that had miraculously survived the barrage, and wished it had been shattered into a million pieces.

He looked old and tired, with his face drawn and haggard from too little sleep and no peace of mind from the ghosts that haunted him. He drew his hand over his unshaven face, feeling several days growth of stubble rasping against his callused palm. He looked away from his own reflection as Vin stepped up behind him, staring hard into the image of the compassionate blue eyes and was grateful to find no pity in them.

"Food's ready."

"Ain't hungry."

"Don't care. You're gonna try and eat it anyways."

Chris didn't have the strength left in him to argue so he allowed Vin to draw him across the small room to the damaged table where he picked at the chicken stew and corn bread. Every mouthful seemed to stick in his throat, but he did his best just to appease Vin. When he reached over for the whiskey bottle, Vin grabbed it first and poured a generous quantity into both mugs before stoppering the bottle.

"That's all you're getting so make the best of it."

"Since when did you become my mother?"

"Since I decided you needed someone to take care of you for a while. As I said, though, make the best of it 'cause I ain't putting up with a sorry sonuvabitch forever."

"Is that what I am?"

"Yeah... but I figure you've got a right to be feeling a little sorry for yourself... for a while, anyways. But then you better get your ass back in the saddle."

"Always did have a pretty way with words, Vin."

Vin laughed softly as he took the barely touched meal away from Chris.

"Let's go to bed, Cowboy. Maybe things won't look so bleak in the morning."

Chris watched as Vin began to shrug off his braces and unbutton his shirt. Little by little the perfect body was revealed to him and yet Chris felt no stirring in his groin.

"Gonna sit there all night?"

Chris pushed a hand through his hair and stood up. He stripped quickly, dropping his clothes carelessly to the floor in his haste. He slid into the far side of the bed and rolled over to face the wall. Moments later the oil lamp was dimmed and he felt a cool waft of air over him as the makeshift cover from their bedrolls was lifted and Vin joined him in the bed.

Warm lips brushed across his bare shoulders, nuzzling into the fine hair at the nape of his neck. He felt Vin's hands stroking over his skin from shoulder blade to the curve of his ass, and he felt the soft lips and rougher tongue savor the taste of him. One hand snaked around the front and teased with a nipple, squeezing the small nub between thumb and forefinger but Chris felt no response from his body. The hand moved lower, and Chris grabbed at the wrist to stop Vin from discovering the truth but Vin evaded his grasp and stroked down Chris's belly and into the curls of hair below... and then froze.

Chris thought he would die from embarrassment as Vin's hand brushed over the flaccid shaft. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, too tired and too ashamed of his body's lack of reaction to throw Vin off when the gentle hand moved again, stroking him gently but still gaining no response.

He tried not to flinch when he felt Vin's hot hand release his unresponsive flesh and press against his side, sighing raggedly as the insistent fingers dug painfully into his hip to force him to turn over.

Chris wasn't certain what to expect... outrage, disbelief, awkwardness, pity, or maybe Vin would laugh at him but the strong hand forced him to look into Vin's face and he was grateful to find none of those.

"It's all right, Chris. It's been a hard few days so there ain't no shame in nothing happening down there. You're tired is all, in more than just your body. Why don't we just hold onto each other tonight, and let the rest happen when it will."

"What if it don't?"

"Don't go burning bridges till we cross them, Larabee."

Chris gave another ragged sigh, nodding his agreement, but he flinched as he felt the evidence of Vin's arousal press against his leg as Vin pulled him close.

"What about you, Vin? Just 'cause I can't... don't mean you have to go without."

"Hell, Cowboy, you don't need to--"

Vin gasped quietly as Chris wrapped his hand around the engorged shaft, no longer protesting as Chris's encircling fingers added just the right pressure as they slid the length of the hard flesh to the head and then back down to the root. His thumb rubbed against that sensitive place with each stroke, bringing smaller gasps of pleasure from his lover. Vin's hand came to rest over his, and together they brought Vin to completion, feeling the hot, sticky seed spill over their joined hands.

Vin pulled Chris into a hug, his tongue plundering Chris's mouth, his hands holding Chris tightly pressed against his firm, young body until Chris finally managed to pull away. They lay in a silence broken only by Vin's rapid breathing until even that faded to a soft exhalation.

Vin cleaned them up in silence, throwing the used rag onto the floor by the bed before reaching over to pull Chris into his arms once more. He pillowed Chris's head against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight.

"You didn't need to... but thanks, Cowboy." The silence lengthened until Chris was certain Vin had fallen asleep. He closed his own eyes and, as he drifted off into his own much needed sleep, he thought he heard Vin whisper, "We're gonna be fine, Cowboy".

As sleep took him, Chris offered up his own unspoken prayer in the silence of the room: Please, God. Let it be true.

THE END


End file.
